Into the Sunlight
by lead me to salvation
Summary: Madge's world is turned upside down when she's sent to England to live with family friends for the holidays. But when war breaks out and her summer shatters into a million terrifying pieces, she finally learns what it means to love, to hope, and to survive. AU based on How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff.
1. One

_A/N So this is my new story, which is basically a How I Live Now AU of the Hunger Games - I've taken some plot points from the book (which literally changed my writing style/ life) and the movie (which is brilliant and highly recommended, but different from the book and very...uh, graphic) and then twisted a lot of it to make it my own. I don't own either canon, sadly. So yeah, onto the good stuff. Enjoy! :)_

_._

_One_

It's a bumpy landing. Not that I would know, really, having never landed on a plane before, but the way the plane jolts and judders and the screwed-up expression on the face of the man next to me is enough to say this pilot obviously didn't get a distinction on this part of his exam. Or her. Could be a lady.

The seat belt signs flicker off, and they're opening the doors – the last rays of English summer sun, all weak and wish-washy, filter through the windows and the two doors and we all get up and get luggage and stuff. It doesn't take long to get off the plane, into a hall with faded EU PASSPORT and OTHER PASSPORTS signs where we queue for ages, even though the first sign seems utterly pointless because I remember them saying on the news back in D.C. that the EU wasn't a thing anymore.

Surly passport officer, eye-scanner, metal detector – it's dark by the time I'm through the heightened security, soldiers with guns slung over their arms standing at ease by every doorway. I lug my reclaimed duffel – should've taken Mom up on the offer of Dad's old wheelie suitcase, would've been much easier on my poor arms – and try to ignore the video of Paris being blown to smithereens that I've seen on every TV, all hours of the day for the past week. I don't want to be upset in my first hour on English soil, and I always feel like crying because Paris was a beautiful city and it's just not fair – why did they have to nuke it, why wasn't it good enough just to capture it and leave it be?

In any case, I'm looking around, going up on my tiptoes to see above the head of this hugely tall soldier who is standing in my way, trying to look for anyone with dark hair and grey eyes – apparently our family friends who I have never met all look the same, colouring-wise at least. I start to think they're either late or no-one's coming and I'll have to sleep at this airport all alone when there's this girl shoving her way through the crowd holding a blotchy sign covered in felt-tip flowers. If I squint, I can just make out MARGARET UNDERSEE.

"Hi," I say, dragging my duffel behind me towards her. I didn't realise there was a girl my own age in the family – just another thing Dad neglected to tell me.

"Hi." She narrows her eyes at my floral dress and flip-flops. "You must be Margaret."

"Madge, actually," I correct. "You are…"

"Katniss."

"I didn't know Hazelle had two daughters."

"She doesn't. I'm the cousin. Come on, we've got to clear out. Didn't pay in the carpark."

She strides off without looking over her shoulder, and I half run to keep up with her, my flip-flops not helping in the slightest so the second we're out onto the tarmac I take them off and run, the duffel thumping on the ground. She stops at a battered old Jeep, dirty glass and bent fenders and heaves one of the doors open, taking my bag and throwing it inside so easily I'm jealous, especially with how skinny she is.

"Get in," she says, and so I do.

.

When we get onto the highway – the _motorway_, Katniss corrects me – she steps up the speed until we're racing along at over a hundred miles an hour, and I'm gripping the edges of my seat because Dad never drove this fast and in the little bit he's gotten around to teaching me, I'd only ever gotten up to forty miles an hour or so.

"Isn't this illegal?" I say loudly over the whoosh of the wind outside.

"Yeah," Katniss says without looking at me. She's relaxed against her seat. I don't _get _it – how can you be so chilled out at a hundred miles an hour in a vehicle that's not supposed to go over seventy? "I'm not seventeen yet."

"Seventeen?"

"It's when we're supposedly allowed to learn to drive. Government gave up on caring a long time ago, so Gale taught me."

"Gale? That's Hazelle's oldest son, isn't it?"

Katniss makes a noise that I assume is yes. It doesn't invite further conversation, so I focus on the cramp in my fingers and how We Are Not Going To Die Because I Completely And Utterly Trust Katniss. Like anyone would believe that.

At one point in our journey, when Katniss has thankfully slowed down because we're on a road that's much smaller and windier than the highway, there's a scream above our heads and five fighter jets roar through the sky in-front of us, trails of lights cutting swathes through the night. Katniss rolls her eyes. I think about how, if there are planes shooting about in the sky, England must be taking the war much more seriously than America and the world and my Dad thinks it is. She slows down even more, thank God, until we're going along this unlit, twisty lane with branches scraping at the car and fields rising up on either side of us.

She doesn't say anything, just looks out of the window and suddenly turns into a little driveway, goes down the driveway, and then we're there. At least, by the way my bum aches after sitting still for so long, I hope we're finally here rather than this just being a pit-stop, or somewhere to spend the night. Katniss opens her door and jumps down onto the gravel. A light switches on somewhere in the flowers flinging themselves wildly about over the porch, and I see the house for the first time – jumbly, a mix of yellow and grey and red stone as though people stuck odd bits on whenever they felt like it. There are no lights on.

I'm still staring – it's so different from our house and the squeaky clean (or not, as the case may be) apartment blocks and houses in D.C. that only date back to the 19th century at the very latest, whereas this must be as old as the medieval times or something – when Katniss appears at my window, my bag slung easily over her shoulder. There's a faint half-smile on her lips.

"Are you going to sit there all night?"

I flush. "No, no, I'm coming."

"Okay. We've got to be quiet because everyone's asleep."

She leads me in through the back door, not the one with the porch, into a kitchen with plates messily stacked up on one side, and a several cats sleeping in random places. There's a note on the kitchen table, and Katniss snatches it up, reads it, screws it up and lobs it into the sink in one fluid, casual motion.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Gale," she says. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No, thank-you."

"Drink?"

"I've got some water. Thanks, though."

"I'll show you your room."

.

The house creaks and crackles to itself as Katniss and I climb a set of stairs with a rope bannister that slope so sharply I'm amazed anyone gets up them at all. If I were friends with the popular lot at school, the girls would go on about it would be amazing for toning your butt, all that climbing, but I'm not, so they'll never hear about this wonder staircase, run up and down it a few times and bikini body here we come. Then it's along a corridor that turns a sharp angle at one end and into a room with a lamp on and another cat curled up on the throw.

"Buttercup, _out,_" Katniss hisses. The cat looks up and glares beadily at us with huge eyes of some indistinct colour. It doesn't move. "I swear to God, I'll throw you in the cookpot…"

"Really, Katniss, I don't mind…"

"Go and find Prim – Madge doesn't want you on her bed."

The word Prim seems to be magic – Buttercup unfolds himself snootily and stalks to the end of the bed, throwing a hiss in our direction before leaping off and disappearing out of the half-open door.

"Katniss, you really didn't have to…"

"He's got fleas," she says shortly. "Goodnight – see you in the morning."

She turns on her heel and follows the cat, shutting the door behind her with a gentle click. I settle down on the green comforter and look around at the flowers on the desk and the old, murky windows and the message someone has left there – Welcome to our family, Margaret – in uneven, splotchy letters. How is it that here, even with Katniss' sort of unfriendliness, though I don't think it's being unfriendly, it's just the way she seems to be, is so much more like a home than the house I've spent my whole life growing up in?

I sigh, and get under the covers. I'm not tired – in America, it would only be about seven o'clock, but I try to go to sleep anyway because it's midnight here and I don't want to feel like a zombie when I have to meet the rest of the family tomorrow. I just hope they're less…abrupt than Katniss.

_A/N Please review - I'd love to hear from you all. N xxx._


	2. Two

_A/N Thank you for reviewing, guys! Guest - it's lovely to hear from you, I'm pleased you like the story - it's supposed to be set in sort of any time now-sih, as in, the technology is the same as it is now, but apart from that the actual canon of How I Live Now never really specifies a time period. I'd really love it if everyone who read this chapter would review - it would really make my day! Even just a word! N xxx_

_._

_Two_

There's a whispering and chattering outside of the doorway when I wake up – or maybe it's that that wakes me up – but when I look at the clock on the bedside table, it's two in the afternoon. God, I really was tired even though I didn't feel like it. I'm still in the floral dress from yesterday, and I'm about to get up and quickly get some fresh clothes on, sort my tangled, crazy hair into something resembling neat but I don't even get the chance because just then there's a knock on the door. I frantically pull my fingers through my hair, trying to flatten it out.

"Come in," I say. Nerves are twisting my stomach into knots as the door creaks open, but then there's a girl standing in the doorway, two girls, actually, a very little one with dark hair and grey eyes like Katniss's and a bigger one with hair the colour of pale sand and big blue eyes and holding a tray. She doesn't look related to the lot of them, which is strange – maybe she's a family friend like me or something.

"Hello!" the little one says loudly.

"Ssh, Posy," the other one says. "She's just woken up."

"Prim, you told her my name!"

"Sorry," the blonde one says, pretending to be sorrier than she is. "Hello, Margaret."

"Madge," I correct again.

She blushes a little bit. "Sorry, Madge. Did you sleep well?"

"Great, thank-you."

"We brought you breakfast," the little one, Posy, jumps up and down. Prim – the girl Katniss must have been talking about last night, the only one who likes Buttercup the cat – puts the breakfast tray down on the bedside table. Posy crawls onto my bed and then sits cross-legged at the end of it. Prim perches next to her, all delicate and ladylike.

"Wow, this looks delicious," I say, glancing at the steaming tea-pot – of course, tea, England, who would've guessed? – and toast piled up on a plate.

"You speak funny," Posy says.

"I know. I'm American."

"Yes, I know that. Why do Americans speak funny?"

"Posy, hush. Let Madge eat in peace."

They both sit and watch me for a bit as I pour tea into a chipped cup with pink roses around the rim from the blue and white striped pot, and put butter on the toast. I take a bite, and Prim asks, "Did you have a good flight?"

I make a noise from behind my mouthful of toast and she flushes again. "Sorry, sorry, finish eating."

I swallow. "It was fine. Long."

"Yeah – then Katniss drove you home, didn't she?"

"Yes."

"I hate going in the car with her," Prim confides. "I love her dearly, but her driving leaves a lot to be desired."

"I spent the entire car-ride hoping we weren't going to end up as Madge and Katniss pancakes."

A laugh bubbles over the edges of her lips. "Well, get Gale or Rory to drive you around if you need it – they're safer."

"Rory's the second-eldest, is that right?"

"It's Gale, then Rory, then Vick, then me," Posy says with a little wriggle. I take another bite of toast, enjoying the way the butter melts in my mouth. "Then Katniss and Prim are our cousins."

"You're Katniss' sister?"

"Mm-hm," Prim nods. "We thought we'd take you round to the village today, if you're up for it."

Posy looks at me with big, pleading, grey eyes, even though I wouldn't even consider refusing. That would be rude, and _first impressions always matter, Madge_. Yeah, thanks for that Dad. As if I couldn't work it out on my own. "Sure."

"Okay, we'll just be down in the kitchen."

I find some fresh clothes in my bag, a skirt and top, and after trying and giving up on my hair, put on some flip-flops and try to find my way back to the kitchen, almost falling down the butt-workout staircase and tripping up on the uneven flagstones, passing a sitting room and a tightly-closed door that sharply screams Do Not Enter in the process, and finally finding the steps down into the kitchen which is slightly tidier than it was last night but still a bit all-over-the-place with everything not-matching and dust motes spinning in the soft beams of sunlight.

Posy and Prim are crashing about – Prim actually trying to put things from the drying rack away, Posy just getting under her feet, and there are two boys, one who follows me in from somewhere in the house, and another, looking the same age as Prim, sitting with his feet up on the table, a newspaper and a cup of brown stuff that I think is coffee, but might not be. First pre-teen I've seen drinking coffee. Maybe it's just England.

I put my breakfast tray on the table, and before I can do anything like start to wash it up in the soapy water in the sink, Prim pours me another cup of tea and forces me down into a high-backed chair. "Are you sure…"

"Yes," she says firmly. "I'll do this, and then we can go out. Rory, Vick, this is Madge. Madge, Rory, Vick."

The one with the newspaper and the coffee raises his hand in greeting, and the other one just smiles shyly. They're like miniature carbon-copies of each other, identical apart from the older one is just about to hit that growth-spurt, the one where feet and hands grow and then arms and legs like my sort-of-friend Delly's brother who shot up about six months ago, and was still looking like a gangling, over-sized puppet when I left. I sip at the tea – it's a strange taste, an _acquired _taste my mother would have corrected me, and I find myself thinking that maybe a little bit of sugar would be nice, but I'm not going to ask because what if that's not the way they do it in England and I'd be looked down on for asking. Just then, the back door bangs open, and Katniss appears, dragging a sack and another boy, but to call him a boy isn't really fair because he looks about my age or even older, and dear _God, _he's beautiful. Must be the eldest. Gale. Delly would be fanning herself right now. I just look down into my tea.

"Did you bring us back anything?" Prim says from her spot at the sink.

"Couple of rabbits. The strawberries are almost there." There's a pause, and a prickling feeling at the back of my neck. I look up. He's looking at me, all narrow eyed and intense and silent, and suddenly I feel too put-together, too neat in my skirt like a perfect little doll when he and Katniss both have rips in their clothes and bits of leaf in their hair.

"This is Madge Undersee," Rory says from behind his newspaper. "Daughter of Mum's friend?"

"Yes, I know," he says flatly. "Pose, have you fed the chickens yet?"

The prickling feeling breaks, and I clench my hands in my lap, wondering why he was so, well, _rude_. I can feel Prim's eyes on my bent head, but I just take another sip of my tea and act like it didn't bother me. Posy explains about some chicken hiding an egg somewhere, and Gale laughs. Katniss drops into the seat next to me. "Sleep okay?"

"Yes, thanks. Where were you?"

"Woods," she says, like it requires no more explanation. Gale is washing his hands in the soapy water, and Prim has pushed herself up onto the counter, picking the leaves out of his hair. "We're going to the village this morning."

"Prim said."

"Okay. You might want sturdier shoes than that."

.

I see what she means when 'walking down to the village' doesn't entail tarmac roads with neat sidewalks, but fields full of cows and sheep and crops, with spiky brambles growing across the path with stiles that everyone but me hops over effortlessly. Gale and Katniss take the lead, and I can tell Gale is getting annoyed with me by the third stile, when I'm struggling to get my leg over properly whilst not catching my skirt on the barbed wire.

"Hurry up," he says.

"I'm _sorry._" I try to keep defensiveness out of my tone, but he really doesn't make it easy. I've known him what, an hour, and he's so ridiculously irritating that it's all I can do not to slap him. "I've never done _stiles _before."

"You shouldn't have worn a skirt."

"Well, no-one told me. Look, just go on with the others. I'll catch up."

"No."

I glare, but he just keeps walking, forcing me to half-run to keep up. He doesn't say another word to me, all the way into the village – thankfully there's only one more stile and he waits impatiently, arms folded, and looking up at the speckled sky that at this particular moment matches his eyes. Why am I noticing things like that? He's not even nice. That's all that matters. Eventually we catch up with the others, and he immediately goes to join Katniss at the front again, scooping up Posy to her obvious delight. Prim falls into step with me.

"I'm sorry about Gale," she says quietly as we walk along the sidewalk – _finally, _tarmac under my feet again. "He's tired and a bit stressed."

"It's okay. I don't have to like everyone in England."

Prim looks pained. "He's overprotective of the family…"

And I'm the outsider. Right.

"Look, Prim, you don't have to make excuses for him." I force a smile onto my face. "It'll work out."

We go around the village after that, the greengrocer – I didn't even know what that was until we were in and I saw all the fruit and stuff, though apparently they didn't usually come here, just because it was seed planting time and the guys who helped with the farm wanted to plant a bumper crop this year because of the war and imports from most places stopping soon and all of that – and the corner supermarket for tinned stuff that again we were stocking up on, and the butcher for dried, cured meat to store because usually they used whatever meat Katniss and Gale dragged out of the woods for them, and finally the bakery, where a sweet, blonde boy served us a load of bread and Posy wheedled Gale into getting us some cookies because it was Madge's First Proper Day In England.

By the look on Gale's face, I could tell that if anyone else had asked, he would have refused, but Posy just kept on pouting and making puppy-dog eyes up at him that he sighed and asked the boy at the counter for a dozen. Prim leaned over to whisper to me, "That's Peeta. He has such a crush on Katniss – it's adorable."

"Does she like him?"

"I can never tell. She might. A bit."

And then we trek home, over the fields again, and I fall off several stiles, getting mud all over my skirt, and finally, Gale tells everyone to go ahead and stands in front of me. "I'm going to teach you how to get over a stile," he says.

"I'm fine." I try to get past him, but he's bigger than me and won't budge. "Gale, get out of my way." To my horror, I feel tears burning in the back of my throat – this is not happening, it is not, I _refuse. _

"Undersee, you're slowing everyone down. Look, it'll take two seconds."

Am I really not worth a first name? "Get out of my way, _Hawthorne_."

I actually manage to push him aside, and scramble over the stile, feeling my skirt catch _again. _I will not let it get the better of me. I yank it free with a rip, and jump down, running back to the house before he can catch up with me.

_Remember - review! :)_


	3. Three

_A/N Thank you to Guest and JabberJayJiffy - I'm pleased you liked it! _

_Three_

"Heya, Mom."

"Hey baby girl." She sounds tired today. More tired than usual. "How's England? Is Hazelle treating you well?"

"I haven't met Hazelle yet," I say. "Rory says she's staying in London all summer. Peace talks, or attempting them, at least."

"Always trying to save the world, just like I remember." Mom's laugh is rasping, sandpaper. "Her kids?"

"Alright," I say, running my fingers along the white flaking paint of the window-frame. I love that I'm small enough and the tiled window-sill is wide enough for me to put a pillow on it and sit there. "Her eldest is a bit brusque."

"Gale, right? I remember when he was a toddler. Caused Hazelle and her husband no end of trouble."

"Doesn't seem to have stopped. How're you feeling today?"

"Alright, I think. They've given me a new drug to help with the headaches."

"That's good."

"It makes me very sleepy, though."

"Dad's okay?"

"Busy, important, stuck up his own arse."

I laugh – I can't help it. Her irreverence towards Dad and his pompous, sweeping generalisations never fails to lift my mood, beautiful unfriendly boys or not. I'm amazed they're still together.

"He's still remembering to take you for your treatment?"

"Oh, yes. Regular as clockwork. Wednesdays and Fridays."

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Madgie."

.

After Mom has hung up – she's going back to bed with some more of her painkillers, I just sit and watch Posy and Vick and Gale in the garden, running around and laughing, thinking about Mom and Dad and the war and the world and why on earth Gale is so hostile to me? It hasn't gotten any better, and I'm reaching the point where I'll stay up in my room with my book and my piano music and a cup of tea – which I have started putting sugar in, thank you very much – just to avoid the way he looks right through me like I'm invisible or beneath him or not wanted. I don't know why I want him to like me so much, though in actual fact the 'I don't know' part is a lie because I do know why I want him to like me.

This was not the reason I came to England.

.

Later that day, when I'm pretty sure that Gale and Katniss have hit the woods again and the younger kids are out with the animals I've seen wandering around the yard, I venture downstairs to have a little explore, because like it or not, I'm here for the summer and I can't stay holed up in my room like a princess locked away in a tower for the rest of it just because _one _member of the family isn't very nice. I find the pantry, and the parlour, and the door that is still shut so I leave it shut, another bathroom, the basement and finally, a sitting room at the front of the house with a TV and two patchy sofas and oh joy of joys a battered upright piano leaning against one wall. I go over to it and lift the lid, sitting down on the stool tucked neatly underneath it. The notes are dusty with misuse, and when I press one, it's a little out of tune, but I don't care because the Hawthornes have a piano and maybe my summer will be bearable after all.

I close my eyes and start to play, all the pieces I've had stored in my head for as long as I've been at high school and lonely, preludes, etudes, nocturnes and finally there's a sound from the doorway, an awkward, throat-clearing sound. I stop playing and look over my shoulder.

Gale is standing in the doorway, a tea-towel wrapped around his hand, watching me.

"You're good," he says, offhand.

It's the first civil thing he's said to me since I arrived. It's almost unnerving. "Thanks." I swallow. "Thought you were out with Katniss."

"I was."

That's when I notice the blood seeping into the checkering cloth, little splotches at first, spreading and spreading. I stand up, feeling my knees wobble a bit. "You're bleeding."

"I know." Back to irritated again. Ruined my only chance, _idiot._

"What happened?"

"Caught it on a sharp branch, it's nothing. Honestly."

"Have you got a first aid kit anywhere?"

"Undersee, quit. I know what I'm doing – it'll be fine."

I sit back down on the piano stool, and turn around, clenching and unclenching my fists several times and feeling like I've swallowed a stone. "If you're sure."

Then I start playing again, a loud, angry piece because it's the first thing that pops into my head. When I look around again, he's gone.

.

That night after dinner, Posy drags me out into the back garden to meet Prim's goat, Lady, which is happily munching on some white flowers I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be anywhere near. It doesn't pay us any attention, and after a while, Posy starts trying to teach me to make a daisy-chain, which I'm not too bad at for once, having had a lot of summer holiday sitting in my back garden with Delly or without her, playing with the flowers and the grass and trying to pretend people weren't going out for pool parties and pizza and ice-cream, trying to pretend that all my friends were on holiday in exotic locations rather than just, well, non-existent.

"Do you like butter?" I ask, picking a buttercup and holding it under Posy's chin. She giggles, as I spot the tell-tale golden glow on her skin. "You do!"

She snatches the flower off me and holds the crumpled petals for a second. "Do you…"

"Pose?"

Great, my favourite person. Posy squeals and leaps up to hug him as though it's been days since she saw him, not dinner just half an hour ago. "D'you mind if I speak to Madge for a second?"

I can just tell Posy is pouting even without looking at her, but Gale says, "I think Prim wants help picking the strawberries in the vegetable garden…"

"Fine," Posy says, so sulkily for a five year old child that it makes me laugh. I stifle it quickly, still refusing to meet Gale's eyes.

"Undersee…Madge."

"What?"

"Look, there's no need to be so hostile."

His placating tone makes anger fire in my veins and I twist around like a cat that's had its fur rubbed the wrong way. "How dare you say that to me!"

"What?"

"For the past week you've been nothing but unnecessarily harsh and I'm _sick _of it!"

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry, okay. I came out here to apologise for the way I snapped at you earlier, but if you're going to be like this, I shouldn't have bothered."

He turns on his heel, all angry lines and straight, stiff shoulders, but for once, I'm quicker. I will not leave this festering between us. I catch his arm.

"Sorry. I shouldn't've blown up."

"No, you shouldn't." He still sounds peeved, but less.

"It's just…everyone else has been so friendly, and I don't understand what I've done to make you…"

"It's not you." He turns to face me, and we're so close, so, so, so close that I have to take a step back to stop myself seeing stars. He's looking at me, again, like he did the first morning, intense and grey-eyed and beautiful, and _tired. _"I'm just…I'm just worried, okay? About Mum being in London with everything going on, and what if we don't get enough food, what if the war comes here? How do we survive then?"

"The war won't come here," I say, maybe a little too confidently, somehow honoured that he'd share his worries with me when he seems the type to bottle them up and only ever tell them to someone he's known for years like Katniss. "Mom would never have let Dad send me if it was."

He sighs. "Maybe."

There's a pause, a silent pause, and I'm still close enough to smell the pine woods on him, light and fresh and sharp. "So, shall we start again?" I ask, and then flush because boy, that sounded awkward.

He looks at me for a second, and then an almost smile pulls up one corner of his mouth. "Sure."

"So, hi, I'm Madge Undersee. It's lovely to meet you."

"Gale Hawthorne."

I hold out my hand as though I'm greeting one of Dad's work colleagues that always seemed to be floating around our house, and after a beat, he takes it. His hand is warm, calloused. "Pleasure to meet you too."

_A/N Please please please please please review, it takes two seconds and I'll be so happy! Please?_


	4. Four

_Four_

"Madge! Madge!" Posy bursts into my room one early morning – eight o'clock or some other ungodly hour like that – with Vick in tow and a bunch of flowers in her hand that she proceeds to scatter all over my nice, tidy room.

"What?" I groan from under my comforter. "Posy, it's way too early for this."

"Gale says we're going for a picnic, and Prim's invited Peeta from the bakery and we've got to go _now _so we can help all of the farm people plant more stuff in the garden this afternoon!"

"Okay. Okay, I'm coming."

"Gale says we're not going 'till nine, so you can stay in bed a bit longer," Vick interjects in a very you-weren't-even-listening-Posy tone, and I sigh, pushing myself up from the warm embrace of my bed. Eight, nine, it doesn't matter. I'm awake now.

"No, no, it's alright. I'm getting up."

"We'll see you downstairs," Vick says solemnly, pulling Posy out into the corridor and shutting the door behind them. It's only been two weeks, but the way they treat me feels like I've been here for two whole years or something. I roll out of bed, stumbling for a second and managing to stub my toe on an annoying corner of skirting board which really needs to get a life and stop being so annoying, and drag on the first clothes I can find, before thinking again and actually choosing an outfit that goes together a bit better than bright pink and lime green. No need to look like a nutter.

Pretty much everyone is already downstairs in the kitchen – I've learned that they're all early risers for some bizarre reason, it must be the countryside because the city sure as hell isn't very interesting early in the morning when it's only full of bored, half-asleep commuters heading to work. Gale puts a mug of tea in front of me with the little bowl of sugar – now that we're actually talking properly and he's not taking out his worry on the only person who wouldn't deck him if he acted like he did to me to them, I've gotten some snarky comments about only an American needing sugar in their tea, which I tend to reply with only the English need sugar in their goddamn coffee.

There's a knock on the door while I'm drinking my tea and Prim trying to pester me into actually eating breakfast – it's not something I do, usually, not at this ungodly hour in any case – and Katniss goes to get it, coming back with a flush on her face and Peeta in tow. "Right, are we all ready?"

"Will I need boots for this walk?" I ask. I get laughter and a shaking of heads, and then we're all up and heading off, and Posy somehow has Lady on a leash because no-one had the heart to tell her that a goat is never welcome at a picnic because they eat _everything. _I walk at the back of the group with Gale, who's quiet, as usual, listening to the chatter of the others and the birds singing their little hearts out in the trees above our heads. I'm quite happy to be quiet too, just glancing at him out of the corner of my eyes because, you know, what girl _wouldn't?_

We climb over a gate – a new skill for me, and this time I'm wearing shorts so it's okay, I can do it with a little bit of help from Gale – and walk through a field of cows to another stile, and then finally we're in this really pretty meadow of wildflowers, and there's several trees with branches low enough to climb and the hills soaring up above us to bow their heads under the soft, melting blue sky. Posy runs down to the little hut in the corner of the field, all falling-down and crooked doors – and flaps about with the picnic blanket even though it's ten times bigger than her and nine in the morning and everyone apart from me had a huge breakfast of bacon and eggs and mushrooms and stuff that would have been nice, if I liked breakfast. Which I don't.

It's obviously way too early for lunch, so Posy starts a game of tag, and we run around the field for a while, shrieking and screaming, apart from Katniss and Peeta, the former of which is trying to teach the latter to climb one of the trees at the edge of the field. After a while, they disappear behind the leaves, and Prim gives me a knowing smirk from across the field. She can be pretty devious for a kid that makes you think she's all innocence and soft words and sweet smile. Gale lets himself be caught by Posy, and then we're all running around away him which is much more difficult than running away from Posy because Gale is about a million times faster than his little sister, and before I know it, I've been caught, which doesn't involve just a tap on the arm, the way we played it at elementary school, it's a full on tackle – either that or he's running too fast to stop in time – but in any case, we end up on the floor in a pile of winded lungs and tangled limbs, and all of a sudden, I can't breathe because he's so close and there's this tingling feeling where his skin touches mine and dear God, what would happen if I leaned up and kissed him right now?

I'm not brave enough, so I don't, even though there's an unidentifiable feeling in his eyes as he whispers in my ear, "You're It."

Then he's pushing himself up, and running off, and I'm still all tingly and wondering at the feeling because even though I know I've had a serious crush even before he actually started acting like a normal pleasant human being towards me, I thought I told myself I wouldn't let it happen. I didn't come to England to fall in love. No, no, this isn't even that. Idiot.

I brush my messed up hair out of my face, and sprint down the hill towards Rory.

.

Eventually we're all exhausted and hungry enough to set to the bread and cake Peeta brought from the bakery and the fruit and meat and stuff we brought from home. Peeta and Katniss appear halfway through our feast to wolf-whistles from Rory, not holding hands but close enough that their arms brush pretty much every second. It's rather cute, actually, especially with the way Katniss has been completely and utterly denying the fact she likes him. Well, obviously, she does.

Afterwards, they disappear off again – no prizes for guessing where they're going – and the other kids scatter, leaving me and Gale to pack up the rest of the food and put it away out of Lady's reach. And then we're just sitting there, watching them have a good time, and it's quite fun, really, the warm sun on my face, and the grass between my toes. I start absent-mindedly making a flower-crown from the daisies and buttercups with a few poppies, dandelions and undistinguishable yellow and purple flowers from around me. Gale leans over to pick up a dandelion.

"You can eat these."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're nicest in the springtime, but if you're really desperate the leaves are good all year round."

"What else could you eat?"

"Bread, meat, fruit and veg – five-a-day…"

I swat him.

"Fine, come on, we'll see what we can find."

He takes my hand and pulls me gently to my feet – I'm trying not to notice the way our hands fit together perfectly like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle – and then leads me down towards the edge of the field where all of a sudden, I can hear a brook bubbling. He takes me through what not to do – plant wise, this is – and then conjures a few things up out of the grass for me to try. I've no idea how on earth he recognises everything – it all looks the same to me – but I take the leap of faith that he's not trying to poison me, and taste everything he gives me – a bitter, kiwi-fruit tasting leaf that he calls sorrel, a dandelion, and other things – and on the way back he finds some wild asparagus. On principal, I dislike asparagus, having had it forced into me at fancy dinner parties since I was little, but I'm making an effort to learn because pretty much all of the Hawthorne-Everdeen clan seem to be able to live off the land in some way, and I don't want to be weighing them down if the war comes here and all the shops are shut.

It tastes nice, actually. Like springtime. I tell this to Gale, and he smiles at me for a second, a proper smile that lights up his face. "We'll make a country girl of you yet," he says.

.

We spend the rest of the day on our knees in the dirt of the vegetable garden, planting seeds for this and that and this, which all look the same to me, but which Rory seems to be able to tell apart at a glance, and then after that, we're all hungry again, but this time, I offer to cook because they've all been running around a lot more than me.

"What American food are you going to kill us with?" Katniss grumbles from her seat at the kitchen table as I attempt to tie back my crazy hair, and pull on the apron Prim offers me.

"Pancakes," I say.

"But the English have pancakes."

"Nu-uh. Not as good as American ones."

They're all completely sceptical, but by the time they've settled down to eating, I feel like putting my hands on my hips and saying I Told You So. My mother's pancake recipe never fails to impress.

After that Katniss says she's going to walk Peeta home, and the rest of us decamp out into the garden because it's such a nice evening, flopping around on the grass and just generally relaxing, though of course that's not enough for Posy who has to run and shriek as usual.

It happens very suddenly. The world goes quiet, too quiet. The birds stop singing. And then, a low boom. Rolling over the countryside like thunder.

Posy's stopped, dead still. We're frozen, like pieces on a chessboard, I can't move, I can't _breathe. _They _promised _the war wouldn't come here_. _

"Gale?" Posy whimpers. "What was that?"

In a second, he's up on his feet, is scooping his little sister into his arms. "Everyone. Inside, now."

His tone provokes no argument – we're all too scared. We go back into the house without a sound.

_A/N Review xo?_


	5. Five

_Five_

We all go into the sitting room and Gale puts Posy on my lap, jerking his head to Rory, who follows him back into the rest of the house silently. Posy winds her arms tightly around my neck, and then Prim and Vick curl up on either side of me, clutching onto my top tightly.

"Madge, what happened?" Posy asks again, putting a cold hand on one side of my face. She's white, terrified like no five-year-old ever should be.

I force myself to speak. "I don't know, Posy." I feel too young to be doing this – I'm seventeen for Christ's sake, how do I tell a first-grader that the war has started in England now, that _no-one _is safe?

"Where's Katniss?" That's Prim now, her voice muffled in my shoulder.

I lean my head on top of hers. I'm seventeen. I'm the eldest here whilst Gale's out doing whatever the hell he thinks he's doing, I've got to keep it together, I've got to be strong for them. "She'll be coming back. Or she might stay at the bakery. I don't know. She'll be fine, Prim, I promise."

Just then, Gale and Rory re-appear, laden down with blankets, candles, bottled water, a radio, and packets of chocolate that we stocked up on only two weeks ago at the supermarket. He throws a blanket over the pile of us on the sofa which is weird because it's warm again, though I feel so cold. He tries the television in the corner, which splutters into life for a second before dying again. He swears softly under his breath, trying not to let everyone see that he's just as frightened as the rest of us are.

"Electricity's out," he tells us. "Rory, try the radio."

Rory bends his head over it for a few moments, and then a crackly, newspaper and static voice comes out of one of the speakers. "We have received a report of a nuclear attack in London," it says. "All civilians must remain in their homes and stay calm."

The Hawthornes have stopped listening after 'London.' I can see it on their faces. Their Mom was in London for the summer – and now she's never coming back.

.

Katniss reappears two hours later, breathless, panicky, and she launches herself at Prim, who starts to cry. I had to explain to Posy what a nuclear bomb was in the simplest terms possible and what that meant to us – she's been sobbing in Gale's arms since, inconsolable, completely oblivious to any of the things he's been trying to say to get her to calm down. Rory and Vick are huddled up with me, silent, listening to the radio.

"Are the Mellarks okay?" Gale asks from his spot by the window.

"Yes, they're in their basement," Katniss says, rocking Prim as though she's much younger than she really is. "Mr Mellark wouldn't let me go until he was sure it was safe."

"Good."

We spend the night like that, huddled up under blankets, clutching each other and jumping whenever the radio beeps into life. Three things happen. We learn that it was Probably The Enemy, though really no-one knows who The Enemy is at this point, so that's a fat lot of use. The second is that the army have declared martial law, curfew is at eight pm, anyone found out on the streets after that will be arrested, and third is that all citizens South of the Bristol Channel will be evacuated because The Enemy Is Coming.

Gale looks at us all after that one. "Screw that," he growls. "This is _our _home and we're _not _leaving."

.

At about five in the morning, when mostly everyone has drifted off into a restless sleep, I see Gale put Posy gently down onto a sofa and slip out of the door. Against my better judgement – he probably needs time to grieve – I follow. He's just standing out in the garden, staring straight ahead at the apple blossom from the orchard that dips low over the wall, and as I approach, he says, "I'm okay, Madge."

"How did you know I was there?"

"You're not as quiet as you think you are."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

He turns to me. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks exhausted. His voice cracks. "I thought it wouldn't come here. Mum said the peace talks were working, that it was going to work and…"

I step forward and put my arms around him. He stands stiffly for a second, and I'm thinking Shit, what have I done? He probably doesn't need that, not after having Posy clinging to him for hours on end, but then his arms fall over my shoulders and he sags against me and I can feel his tears soaking into my hair. In any other circumstance – well, one when he's not falling to pieces in my arms – I'd be hyperventilating inside about the fact that he is holding me, but all I feel is this hollow ache. I've never lost a parent. I've come close when Mom had one of her attacks and I was at school and Dad was at work, but I've never had to deal with the fact that just one day, out of the blue, one of them might be at work and a bomb might go off.

He pulls himself together after a while, but we stay like that, standing there with the sun rising gracefully into a pink and cloudy sky, and then his hands are pulling me even closer and _he kisses me. _It's hard and desperate and God, I don't even know if he'd be doing this if things were different, if his Mom hadn't just been blown up but I don't care, I Do Not Care In The Slightest because my stomach has jumped up into my throat and I can't think about anything but the way his lips feel on mine and how right it feels.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his cheeks are flushed – I know I can't look much better. "I'm not sorry."

"I'm not, either."

And then he smiles – it's not much, it's bittersweet and sad and weary, but it's enough.

_A/N Please review! :) Also, thanks to the people who've followed this story - I'd really like to hear from you too! :) N xx_


	6. Six

_Six_

We settle into a routine after that, as much as anyone can settle into one with the world shattering into a million pieces about their heads. Katniss and Gale go hunting a lot more now, and every time they bring back meat and plants, Prim and I set to preserving them as best we can with vinegar and smoke and curing, and then we hide them and tinned food about the place, under loose tiles, behind the mirror in my bedroom – who even knew _that _was there? – in every little nook and cranny we're sure that no-one but us will be able to find.

Peeta comes by a lot more often now, to see Katniss, or Katniss walks down to the bakery, although that's less often because Peeta's mother is a cow and doesn't like her. Posy's regained a little bit of her old excitement – she's too little to understand, really – and Prim is trying to be optimistic.

In the evening, after dinner, Gale and I go out for long walks about the farm – even though it's after the eight o'clock curfew normally, it's our land and there aren't any other adults here to tell us what to do because the farmhands have all scarpered back to their families, which is sort of fair enough, really. We usually end up kissing against a wall somewhere because in all honesty, as much as I want to think it's because he's fallen for me, it's probably more to do with forgetting the fact that they're going to evacuate us any day now and the rations we get down at the shop are less and less and the fact the Hawthorne-Everdeen family are all orphans now.

I'm the only one with parents left.

Of course, when Any Day Now doesn't materialize and we're not ordered into trucks to be taken God Knows Where, the kissing escalates into something more and more often than not we end up stumbling to my room because it's the furthest away from everyone else's and actually has a lock on the door, not that I'd noticed before. The first night after we were just lying in each other's arms, listening to the wind whistle about the rafters, and I asked something about wasn't sex under a certain age illegal. It actually got a laugh out of Gale, the first one I've heard in the weeks since the bomb, and he shook his head and said that no, the age of consent in England is sixteen, so we're fine, and in any case no-one listens to the law so it might as well fuck off.

I laugh then, too, but there was this little doubt niggling at the back of my mind, because if he acts so flippant about martial law, he's on the right track to getting a bullet in his head. But there aren't any soldiers around this deserted corner of the British Isles, so at that particular moment, I force myself to stop thinking about it, and concentrate on learning all the little things about him that make me feel more and more like falling the more I think about it even though it's always a bad idea to fall for someone who probably doesn't return the feelings. Like the fact he tastes like salt and sunshine if of course sunshine could be a taste. And how long his eyelashes are. And the way his hair is all messy when he's just woken up and is smiling at me from across the pillow.

Even with the war and everything horrible happening around the rest of the world, I never want this moment to end.

.

"Tell me about America."

"What about it?"

He kisses my collarbone. "Stuff."

"That's very helpful."

"Okay, then. What was your life like before coming here?"

I sigh, and slide my hand down his back. I could lie. I could make up something about life in America being a rave, being loved by everyone but no, that's not right. I can't do that. "Lonely," I eventually say.

His eyebrows pull together. "Lonely?"

"It was only me, Mom and Dad – Dad's a senator, so he was always at work. Mom's been sick for quite a long time." At his quizzical look, I pull a wry face. "Cancer."

"God, Madge…I shouldn't've asked…"

"Don't worry. She's not going to die just yet."

"I thought you had it all easy when Mom told me about you. Always enough money, both parents still around."-

"What happened to your Dad?" I almost feel guilty asking, because in all the time I've been here, not one word of any parent apart from Hazelle has ever been mentioned.

"Mine accident."

"I'm sorry."

"It was years ago."

Another pause. He presses another kiss to the hollow of my throat. "Why did your Dad send you here?"

"Well, he obviously didn't think _this _would happen. The war. Not you and me."

He laughs, and brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes.

"It just sort of happened, really. I guess he was sick of me floating around the house on my own all summer. It's the best idea he's ever had, actually. Apart from the war bit, of course."

"Glad to know you think so. I do too."

.

In the morning, we are rudely awoken by Katniss banging on the door as though the hounds of hell are snapping their way up the corridor.

"Gale! I know you're in there, you've got to get up!"

She doesn't sound panicked or even worried, just more than a bit exasperated. Gale sits up and groans. For a morning person, he's being very lazy today – it's nearly ten o'clock, normally he'd've been in the woods for hours by now, leaving me to sleep.

"Wha-at?"

"Mr Mellark's come with Peeta. He wants a word with you."

.

When we eventually get downstairs, after getting dressed amid a lot of faffing and procrastination, Mr Mellark is settled in the kitchen with a mug of tea, talking to Rory about the garden, and Lady. Prim is sitting on the counter, swinging her bare legs, and Katniss and Peeta are nowhere to be seen. I follow Gale down the steps, going over to the stove to put the kettle on. Thank God they have a gas stove or we'd be pretty screwed by now.

"Good morning, Mr Mellark," Gale says politely, even though I know he's a bit irritated because I know exactly where he'd still like to be this morning.

"Morning, Gale. I just came around on behalf of the village to check that you're all doing alright. That you don't need anything."

"No, we're fine." Gale's tone of voice leaves a lot to be desired.

"It's kind of you to offer," I butt in, sending a be-nice glare to Gale. "We're pretty much set – I think."

He thanks us and just explains that everyone was a bit worried because of what had happened to Hazelle, but thankfully he didn't spout platitudes (which would have made Gale angry) and he didn't stay very much longer except to tell Gale that He Probably Knew This Already but to start stockpiling medicinal herbs as well because the pharmacy was fast running out of things and it wouldn't be long before everyone was looking at their old books and taking to the fields as much as they could under the laws of do-not-leave-your-area and the curfew. When he left, I put a cup of tea in front of Gale and one for Rory and Prim even though they didn't even ask for one, because the way Gale was shaking, I figured he needed it.

"We don't need charity," he says.

"No," I put my hand on his shoulder. "But it was nice of him to offer."

Gale nods once, curtly, and we don't speak of Mr Mellark's visit again.

_A/N Review? :) xx_


	7. Seven

_Seven_

It's late afternoonish and everyone is restless because really, there aren't many more secret places we can hide food and the garden has been weeded to within an inch of its life, and Gale and Katniss have taken Rory and Prim out somewhere to collect medicinal herbs, so I'm left with the babies not that Vick or Posy for that matter would like being called a baby. I decide to tell them some of the stories from one of the books on the shelf, and Posy is cuddled up on my lap, actually acting her age for once which is a nice change from seeing her worried and frightened and everything a five year old shouldn't be. The story I choose is about princesses and princes and dragons, and Vick is making Yuck noises, like Those Stories Are For Girls and I'm A Boy, but after a while, he settles down to listen because it's about something happy which feels strange after living in a limbo of the fact that a war is going on only a hundred miles away or so, and we're sitting here doing nothing whilst people are killed and lots of other horrible stuff happens.

After a while, Gale wanders in with a bowl full of stuff and sits down on the floor, smiling at me, a proper smile that actually reaches his eyes, and starts sorting through the plants obviously not caring about getting soil on the carpet which is Very Helpful because I know I'm going to be the one clearing it up later, because apart from Prim I seem to be the only one trying to keep a semblance of normality around here. After that's done, and Vick takes Posy off to play somewhere and of course Gale and I end up making out on the couch because there really aren't enough hours in the day or night to get enough of each other, especially with two under tens, two pre-teens and Katniss wandering about the place.

A crunching of gravel under tyres. Gale sits upright, so quickly I almost tumble off the edge of the couch, and then he's making shushing signals at me, so I keep my mouth shut.

"Go find the kids," he says, getting up.

"Where are you…"

"I'm seeing who it is. Please, Madge."

Voices now, and footsteps in the driveway, I run out of the sitting room and up the stairs as silently and quickly as possible to find Posy pushing Vick's trains around the place and making Choo-Choo noises. Vick is sitting with her and saying something about routes and stations.

"Madge!" she says loudly.

"Ssh," I say, crouching down and picking her up, balancing her on one of my hips. "There are people outside."

"Who?" Vick asks.

"I don't know. Gale's gone to look. You have to be quiet, okay? We're going downstairs."

Unexpectedly, Vick takes my hand and squeezes it tightly. "It's going to be okay, isn't it, Madge?"

"Yes," I lie. "It's going to be fine."

.

It's not fine. It is really, really, really not fine.

The army have finally arrived. Gale's standing on the front doorstep, arms folded, taller than most of them and trying to keep his tone reasonable. I come up behind him, and touch his shoulder.

"Madge," he says. "I told you to stay inside."

"Who's this?" one of the soldiers asks. He's young, barely older than Gale, but there's an air of authority, a hardness in his eyes that we'd be foolish to ignore.

"Cousin," Gale says. The way his hand takes mine behind his back, out of view of the soldier, tells me to play along. The soldier asks about who else lives here, and what the house is like, and then he says that he's Awfully Sorry, but we're going to have to Be Evacuated.

I can't see Gale's expression, but I squeeze his hand, silently begging him not to do anything rash, don't do anything rash, I _cannot _lose you, but then the soldier says, "Get the rest of your family out here."

"Madge, go get the kids," he says, his voice perfectly even to anyone who didn't know him.

I try to stay calm. Posy and Vick are hanging about by the door, and Katniss has come in the back way and is standing in the hall.

"What's happening?" she whispers.

"We're being evacuated."

Her face turns stony. "Over my dead body."

"Where's Rory and Prim?"

"Still in the woods, oh God…" I see the thoughts flit across her face, and then she spins on her heels. "I'm going to tell them to run."

"Katniss…are you going to go with them?"

She looks right through me for a second, and then sets her lips and shakes her head. "You need me more than they do. I'll be back."

I go back out onto the porch with Posy and Vick, and Gale's still talking with the soldier. "Where're the others?" he asks.

"You are _so _forgetful," I say, trying to sound innocently chiding. "Rory and Prim went to stay with Grandma yesterday, remember?"

He gives me a look, and I grip his hand. Trust me. Please. "Katniss?" he asks again, eventually.

"In the bathroom. She'll be out in a sec."

Posy is looking around her with wide, terrified eyes, and then everything happens so quickly that I can barely keep track. Katniss appears. The soldiers push us apart, me, Katniss and Posy to one side and Gale and Vick to the other. "What's happening?" I ask.

"Separate places," one of the soldiers grunts. "Get in the truck."

I can't…no, this can't, surely they're going to take us all together, no they can't separate us, they can't, not like this…

"Please let me say goodbye!"

"Madge! Katniss! Where are you taking them! Posy!"

Somehow, I don't know how, but I duck out from behind the soldier corralling us into one of the trucks, and sprint for Gale, gravel flying up around my shoes. This is not happening. This is _not _happening. He catches me as I fall forward and kisses me, and I know we've just blown our ruse and it is obvious we're not cousins, but the soldiers don't even seem to care anymore, it's like we're just another box to check and we're making it too difficult and taking too long for their liking.

"Get back here," Gale hisses in my ear. "As soon as you can, promise me, Madge, _promise._"

"Yes, I promise."

"Rory and Prim?"

"Running. Gale…be safe."

"I will. Remember…"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence because hands lock around my elbows and are pulling me backwards and Gale's being restrained by at least three of them, and I'm kicking and fighting and screaming because I will not go, I'm not leaving him, I'm not leaving them, but then they're forcing me into the back of the truck and the last thing I see before they slam the doors is Gale looking towards me and Katniss, and I think he's trying to shout something but I can't hear it because there's nothing but echoing silence and our ragged breathing.

.

In the village, they put more women and kids into our truck, which is a lot easier because they had warning, they already said goodbye, and they're all waiting in a nice orderly queue. Katniss is sitting with Posy on her lap, and my throat feels raw and scratchy from the tears I've only just managed to stop.

And then, we drive.

I don't even know where we're going, but it takes hours, and I can't see out of the truck so I've no idea where we are, not that that would help at all because I know nothing about England. Hours. My bum is numb from sitting still for so long, and my heart hurts because Gale is somewhere else, and this is a _war, _what if he's killed and I never see him again without telling him that he's not just a way to forget the war to me like I probably am to him, that I'm…God, I'm in love, though I don't know how after only six weeks of being here and knowing him.

By the time we get there, it's the only thing keeping me sane. I will see Gale again, I will, we've just got to get out of here and then we can get home like he told me to, and it will all be fine_. _We're going to survive this. We have to.

_A/N Please review! N xx_


	8. Eight

_Eight_

_There _turns out to be Co-Operative Number Thirteen, and they won't tell us where it is just for our own safety because if it gets leaked – boom, The Enemy will be on to us before we know it because they are completely not above killing innocent women and children. That's pretty much who they're putting here – I've no idea why we have to be separated from the men but who knows what happens in England in wartime. We get a little orientation and sign-in, and the only reason I get through it all is by not-thinking of Gale and thinking how the hell we're going to get out when there's barbed wire fence around the whole compound and checkpoints at every entrance. There's a bit of a kerfuffle when they realise I'm American, and they demand to see my passport which is futile because they forced me into a truck before I could pack anything other than the clothes on my body, so I get a bit snippy and tell them to take it on my accent, which of course they don't like very much but they don't have much choice.

We get assigned to a house with several other of our fellow evacuees – mainly other young women and girls, all under the care of a house mother called Mrs Coin, who I decide I don't like and Katniss decides she hates. Luckily, the three of us are put into a two-bed room together because Posy refuses to let go of Katniss, and I manage to stick on the drawl even more than normal and say that Posy is our dearest cousin and Katniss and I don't mind sharing a bed with her considering she's so little. I end up regretting that the first night when it's my turn with Posy because she wriggles as much as a worm, refusing to lie still, but eventually we come to a treaty even though all three of us lie awake all night thinking about home and our family. They're not blood-relations but I don't even care. They're more of a family than a sick mother and constantly absent father.

.

In the morning Mrs Coin wakes us up at the crack of dawn because we have to start working in the fields and greenhouses and stuff on the other side of the compound that we didn't see when we came in because we came in the other way or something. Then she gives us a smile that's probably supposed to be reassuring and says, "Don't worry, your little cousin can come with me to the nursery."

Posy puts up a right fuss at this, screaming in a shrill voice about how she hates it here and she wants to go home and she wants Gale and She Won't Leave Us. To be honest, Mrs Coin takes it in her stride and says that she can come with us, but as long as she's useful, otherwise it's off to the nursery with her. It sounds like a slaughterhouse, the way she goes on about it. So off we go to the fields and it's mainly sort of digging up potatoes from concrete lined plots and picking things in teams. I'm separated from Katniss – who hugs me tightly, which is weird for her, until I realise it's an excuse to tell me that she'll find out as much information as she can and I should too – and put in a team with three other girls from our house – Clove, Annie and Johanna, and several older women who all band together and talk about children and husbands and all that. We have to pair off for things, like one person digs up potatoes, the other one rinses them and sticks them in the basket, so because Annie and Johanna stick together – apparently they come from the same town or near enough – I'm with Clove, who's quite an abrasive person but since I'm used to Katniss, it doesn't really matter.

After a few days of working together, getting scratches and scrapes on our knees from the rough surface of the concrete and backache from bending over all the time, Clove thaws a bit and starts asking things like why on earth an American is stuck in an English war when supposedly the good old US is still a neutral country, and you're with that other girl and the little one – where have you come from? And then I ask her things about her story and why the hell she's ended up here, though it's mainly for the same reason as me – her dad and two brothers got conscripted and she and her Mom were sent up here, which she thinks is Totally Sexist because girls can fight just as well as boys.

Before we even know it, two weeks have gone by, and I'm still aching for the farm and the warm sunshine down south that doesn't seem to be a thing up here and Gale, of course, always Gale who I'm pretty much constantly thinking about in the back of my mind and who has probably been conscripted, I've realised, considering that's what happened to Clove's brothers, one of whom is the same age. Katniss and Posy and I are having our nightly powwow before dinner where we share any titbits we've picked up from people we work with.

"Clove's told me where we are," I say, brushing Posy's hair with the military assigned comb that has to go around all three of us.

"Mm-hm?" Katniss looks up.

"About ten miles north of Sheffield, wherever that is."

"A couple of hundred miles away from home. Maybe more." Her voice wavers. "It'll be tough."

"We're going to still do it, aren't we?"

"Yes, it's okay. We are. We're just going to have to find a map."

We sit in silence for a while. I put Posy's hair into two plaits, and she attempts to make my mess of a bun a little bit neater, but only succeeds in making it fall down my back in a wave of gold. I try to gather up my courage to ask Katniss about Peeta or Prim because she's hardly talked of home at all, which is strange because I think about it all the time and Posy never shuts up, but then before I manage to form the words, we're called for dinner. Katniss rolls her eyes, and I pick up Posy.

"Start trying to sneak food," she says softly as we go over to the door. "Non-perishable stuff. But be careful."

.

It's weeks later, too many weeks, and we're hiding the things under a loose floorboard under Katniss' bed, wire and matches and chocolate and dried meat and a knife that is nowhere near sharp enough but Katniss says will do once she gets her hands on the right kind of stone. Next on the list is water purification tablets, which I'm going to get today, the map, which is her business and not mine, and then just as much food as we can steal without them noticing. Posy's in on it of course, and has reluctantly agreed to go to the nursery because there's food there that she can hide under her regulation jumpsuit, which we've discovered has a ridiculous number of secret pockets for things. None of us have dared to breathe a word to anyone about this, but I'm pretty sure Clove is close to guessing from the type of information I'm gently prying out of her.

"So, who did you leave behind?" she asks one day when we're sitting on the ground shelling peas.

"What?"

"You're missing someone. I can tell."

"I'm not missing anyone."

"A boyfriend, or a lover or something."

"Or something." I snort. "What, an alien?"

She hits me hard in the upper arm and I yelp. One of the overseers looks towards us, and we both quickly bend our heads to make it look like we're actually working. Then she leans towards me again and says, "Spill."

And so, after a moment's hesitation, I do. Because I can't talk to Katniss about it – she and Gale are close, she's missing Peeta, I can tell, and she's worried sick about Prim. She would either tell me that Gale's a survivor and he's probably back at the farm already, tapping his foot and waiting for us or to stop worrying, which would be the most counterproductive thing in the world, because I'd just _start _worrying again. So I tell Clove all about the entire thing, and when I'm done, she sighs. "Well, you're going to go and find him again, aren't you? You and your cousins."

"If the opportunity comes up," I say, and we leave it at that.

.

But the opportunity does come up, sooner than we'd expected and sooner than we're ready. We've been hearing illicit reports that the camp garrison have been trying to keep from us about how The Enemy are sweeping northwards and the British Army is caving in before them. That they're at Bristol. Then Birmingham. Then Nottingham. I'm scared that they're going to spirit us further north into Scotland or somewhere like that, that we're never ever going to get back down to the farm in Devon, but all they do is start running practise drills – run for the hidden bunker and we'll get you out.

It's night-time, when it happens. The sirens start to wail. Katniss is on her feet – already dressed – and even to this day I wonder whether she had some sixth sense that something was about to happen, and Posy, quiet, is shivering as we pull on our jumpsuits and boots and put regulation-issued fleeces over them. Mrs Coin is knocking on doors, yelling at everyone to get out, but the second she's gone, Katniss has our rucksack over her shoulders and is hefting the window frame up and sliding out. Thank God our room was ground-floor. I lift Posy down to her, and then wriggle out myself, landing with a heavy thud, and then we're running, me with Posy in my arms, panting for breath against the weight of her and the adrenaline rushing giddily through my veins. There's gunfire from the other side of the compound. Screams. I try not to think about what it means. I can't think about all the people we're abandoning. Our crews. Our housemates. I won't.

There are no guards on the gate we approach, and we duck out, running down the road and then Katniss leads us into the woods, sure-footed, unerring, and we're running, still running and I can barely breathe by this point and my sides feel like someone's taken a knife to them, but an hour or five seconds of running later, we've stopped where the woodland meets a meadow. The night is clear and hot and sticky.

We're free.

_A/N Please review! xx_


	9. Nine

_Nine_

And so we walk. Katniss is in charge of the map and the supplies and things, and I'm in charge of Posy, even though sometimes I wish we could swap around because obviously Posy has very little legs and can't walk that fast so I often end up carrying her when she's tired of running ahead, squawking and generally being a kid for the first time in almost a month. Out here, it doesn't even feel like there's a war going on. We're on footpaths most of the time - I can't get over it, everything in England is so polite and neat - except when Katniss hears a sound – she has ears like an owl, that girl – and ushers us off the path and into some vegetation to hide, even though usually the sounds aren't anything but the earth settling under our feet.

We save our chocolate and dried meat, and instead Katniss goes off to set snares with her wire and I remember the sort of things Gale taught me back in the meadow all that time ago, and pick things like blackberries which are a bit small and bitter still but apparently perfectly edible, dandelion leaves, the sorrel stuff from that day in the meadow which makes me want to cry because it seems like worlds and centuries away. By the third day, I have horrific blisters all over my feet and every step is agony, but I keep going, one foot in front of the other, all day long. At night, it's still warm enough for us to find a safe place to sleep – because it's Katniss, we usually end up in some woodlands half-way up a tree, and she sets one of us to keep watch at all times in case of The Enemy but really, would they be out in the middle of nowhere tracking down poor, innocent refugees?

As we get further south, the war becomes more evident. There are burned out houses. Dead animals. Trampled leaves. Katniss starts to say we should walk at night now, to avoid being spotted, and make fires to cook our meat at dawn and dusk when the smoke is least likely to be seen, and because I know nothing about this whole surviving-in-the-wild thing, I nod and go along with it. More meat. Blackberries.

"Madge, I'm hungry," Posy says one evening. We've only had rabbit and hazelnuts today. Her stomach makes funny slurping growling sounds. "Really hungry."

Without looking at Katniss, I hand over the rest of the meat I was eating. I haven't seen myself in over a week, but I can feel my ribs getting more and more prominent beneath my jumpsuit, my hair limp and greasy and piled into a bun on top of my head. A few days ago, Katniss cut all of hers off, which was smart, but I can't bring myself to. We find another tree, and get up it, and my muscles are aching again, so much, but we've got to keep going. We have to.

"Where are we?" I ask Katniss, once Posy has settled down into her branch with some of the snare wire holding her in place. Katniss gets out the little pocket map she'd stolen from Mrs Coin's office.

"I saw a sign to Coventry earlier," she says.

"Clove said they were blacking out all the signs."

"Didn't do their job very well if they did. In any case, I think we've done about that much," she draws a line on the map with her finger. "And we've got just under two hundred left."

"When will we get home?" That's Posy now, voice heavy with sleep.

"Soon, sweetie," I say, looking at Katniss. Her mouth twists up in a grim smile.

.

On the second day after that, we come to a deserted highway – _motorway_ – all bent crash-barriers, abandoned, burnt-out cars and cracked tarmac. None of us say anything – we can't, what if The Enemy are near? – but I can hear the thoughts thrumming through our minds. Is it safe? Is it too exposed?

I make the decision for Katniss, hoisting Posy back up onto my hip. "The sooner we get it done with, the sooner we can move on," I whisper.

"But…" Katniss stops. Posy snakes her arms around my neck and holds on tightly. "Okay. Quickly."

It's close. We sprint, as fast as we can whilst trying not to twist an ankle or get tangled in the brambles or nettles and there's this sick feeling rising up inside of me because if they come, we're dead.

We make it just in time.

About a minute after we dive into the safety of the bushes on the other side where I'm greeted by a branch that scrapes roughly across my cheek, there's the CHOP CHOP CHOP of a helicopter above us, whistling the air apart, and we're silent, hunching down into our bush and hoping the grey blends in with the greenish leaves and the brown dirt. We're being stupid because of course we can't be seen from the air, and in any case there's only a fifty-fifty chance it's The Enemy because it might be The British Army who have stressed and made clear that they are not nearly as trigger-happy as the people they're fighting. Not that I'd trust that. If they saw something move, they'd blast it out of the ground, just the same as the other side.

We wait for what feels like another hour or two before Katniss finally gets the map out and we find the footpath again, trudging along, on and on and on into the fields.

.

It's the day after that when we're camping down in this old outbuilding that probably used to have animals in it due to the straw scattered around the place and the sky just opens above us. Thunder, lightning, the whole shebang, just out of nowhere. Posy's in Katniss' lap this time, and it turns out she's scared of thunderstorms because she screams every time it bangs. Good thing the thunder's loud enough to cover up the noise.

I go and stand in the doorway, hidden enough to warn if anyone decides to come trotting out into the middle of nowhere, and watch the rain pour down in a stream of silver, split apart by rosy-gold fingers of lightening. The thunder roars, again.

We're going to make it back. We have to. I won't let myself even think about the alternatives.

.

When it finally stops raining, we pick some more leaves and wind them around our feet to pad them out and stop the blisters rubbing, because after nearly two weeks of flat out walking, our socks are worn to shreds and do absolutely nothing to stop the pain. Not that the leaves do, either, but apparently they're something called Dock, and they work on nettle-stings, so why not blisters? At least, that's Katniss' reason, and because she's so much better at this than I am, I just go along with it.

After another five or ten miles of walking – the time sometimes slips by like water under a bridge or crawls along as though it's made of sticky toffee (what I wouldn't give for sticky toffee, but Katniss is still keeping the chocolate safe until we literally cannot live off the land anymore), we get to a river. It's getting dark, and I'm so tired and I can feel the layers of grime clinging to my skin, so I put Posy down and say "I'm going for a swim."

I leave on all my undergarments and step into the river which is bloody freezing for the end of summer when it's supposed to be all warm and nice, but the goosebumps and numb toes are so worth it when the dirt floats away and I can actually get all of the knots out of my hair before tying it back up in its usual mess on top of my head. When I get back up the bank to dry off in the one blanket we got and put my jumpsuit back on – I hate these things, they make us look like prisoners – Katniss has made a little campfire and Posy has found a whole load of blackberries which is good but all this fruit isn't really what we need to keep us going on our long trek, so Katniss breaks out a little bit of the dried meat because there aren't any places for her to set snares and anyway the bunnies will all be their burrows somewhere, not hopping around for us to catch.

And that's when we hear the voices.

_A/N All you lovely silent followers who've added me to your alerts list, I'd love to know what you're thinking of the story! Please review! S xxx._


	10. Ten

_A/N So, this is where the story starts to earn the M. Nothing explicit as such but if you're squeamish-ish..._

_Ten_

"Run," Katniss says, packing all of the things into the rucksack and kicking dirt all over the fire. Of course, it could be someone friendly, but neither of us are willing to risk our chances. People get more dangerous in wartime. I've got Posy in my arms, and we make a dash for it back across the fields towards the edge of these woods that we were probably going to end up in anyway. I can hear shouts. They've seen us.

The rat-tat-tat of gunfire. The blood is pounding in my ears. Run rabbit run.

We get to the treeline, and Katniss snatches Posy out of my arms, lifts her up into a branch. "Climb!" she says, handing the rucksack up which is way too big for Posy, but she doesn't complain, hooking it over her shoulders and scuttling up the tree. Katniss goes next, and my heart is thumping because I'm the only one left on the ground.

I start to climb, but the voices are closer and closer, and then there are hands around my waist, flinging me to the ground. All the breath whooshes out of my lungs. Stars dance before my eyes.

The bang of a gun. A shape thumps down next to me with a crack. A woman screeches. Male laughter. I blink and try to scrabble to my feet, but the hands are back, and I can hear someone shouting something in a language I don't understand. Fear makes me clumsy, and I kick out only to find my feet meeting thin air. More women, girls, crying out. I blink again, and suddenly everything comes into sharp focus – there are two other women, held by their hair and right by my side Katniss and there's a pool of blood and her eyes are open, staring blankly at me, her neck at an angle…

I scream. I can't stop, the sound won't stop leaving my mouth, I crawl towards her, shake her Katniss wake up, KATNISS WAKE UP! But then hands pull me back and there's a ripping of material and god no no no no no no no this is not happening, this is not happening this can't be happening, oh the pain, oh god it hurts make it stop, stop touching me stop touching me….

It goes on for hours – different men – I fight and scratch and kick until one of them whacks me with something hard and after that I drift in and out of consciousness, and they're still at it, and why? Why why why why why?

I can hear them laughing again. And then the sound fades out, and I float away, cradled in black.

.

Someone is shaking me. "Madge! Madge! Wake up, please, wake up!" the voice gets shriller and shriller. I try to pry my eyes open. My mouth feels fuzzy. Furry. A little body, curled into mine. I shift, and pain shoots up between my legs. Eventually, my eyes open and I see Posy, hunched over me.

"Pose," I say. My voice cracks.

"Madge, I want to go home."

It all crashes back over me. I feel like I'm drowning. I turn my face away. I don't know what to say.

.

Eventually, I manage to stumble to my feet. There are bruises everywhere, all up my arms and down my legs, and scratches that sting painfully. Posy is silent. I can see the tear-tracks down her cheeks.

Further off in the bush, I can see the shapes of the other women. And Katniss. I can't seem to form thoughts properly. I pick up the rucksack and sling it over my shoulder even though all of my muscles are screaming. The world spins a little.

"Come on," I say, starting to walk. Posy follows.

.

It takes a long, long time. Sometimes I can't walk for any more than a few miles without feeling faint, and I can barely eat without feeling sick. I can't feel anything. I can't stop looking over my shoulder. Posy tries to talk to me, but I can't make myself talk back. I can't pretend it's alright, because it's not.

.

Finally, we're at the top of this hill, and there's the sea, stretching out below us, shimmering grey and blue in the late autumn sunshine. "The Bristol Channel," Posy says, and I wonder distractedly how a first-grader knows that. "We're almost home."

.

Two or three days later, I can't tell, the nights and days are all smushed together into a sleepless haze, we're walking through more woods, and I'm on edge, nails digging into my fists because it's so much easier to concentrate on those little pricks of pain in my hands rather than the fact that there are woods and The Enemy could be hiding behind any tree, ready to jump out and attack me again. Posy stumbles along behind me, exhausted, begging me to slow down, but I can't, _I can't. _We've got to get out of here.

There's a rustle, and then, "Madge?"

Someone – a tall, lanky someone – appears in front of me. I take a step back. And another.

"Rory!" Posy shrieks, and then she's running past me and tripping over into his arms. He scoops her up into the air. A hand slides under my elbow. I flinch, but it's not a soldier. It's only Prim, blue eyes wide and worried. Guilt fills my throat until I'm choking on it. I can't say anything.

"Let's get you home," she says, softly.

.

Back at the house which is completely deserted, Prim sits me down at the kitchen table. Rory hasn't let go of his sister, and doesn't seem like he will in a long time. She lights the gas stove with a match. Boils the water. I watch it, the blue-orange flame flickering back and forth. Vaguely, I hear Posy saying something about men and me. I shiver.

Prim puts a cup of tea in front of me, and I stare at it blankly.

"Drink it," she tells me. "It'll make you feel better."

I obediently lift it to my lips. It's hot, scalding my tongue, but I don't care. I can feel her brushing my tangled hair away from my neck.

"You're all scratched. Let me clean those up for you." Her voice is slow and soothing, as though I'll bolt if she talks too fast. I keep staring at the place where the gas flame was, even though they blew it out the second the water boiled.

Prim takes me up to my old room, and pretty much takes care of me, putting cream on the scratches and tutting at the bruises, washing all the dirt from my arms and legs, untangling my matted hair and plaiting it neatly. I sit there silently, letting her do what she will. She can put me back together physically as much as she wants, but I still feel numb inside. After she's done, she says,

"I'll go and get you some food."

I reach out and catch her wrist. "Prim."

"Yes?"

"Katniss…"

"What about her?"

"She's dead." I somehow get the words out. "I'm sorry."

Tears fill her eyes, spilling over her lashes like rain. She turns and goes. Something breaks, and I start to cry. I cry and cry and cry, and can't stop.

_A/N Review?_


	11. Eleven

_A/N Okay, I'm posting this early. This is the last chapter of Into the Sunlight - I hope everyone who's read it has enjoyed it, and I'd really love to hear from everyone who's been following it just to hear what you all think! _

_Eleven_

They say time heals all wounds, but let me tell you, that is a load of crap. Time doesn't do anything for the guilt festering away inside me. I sit, at the kitchen table, or hunched up on my window-seat, for hours and hours and hours thinking about what I could have done differently to avoid what happened. To stop Katniss being killed. The answers never come, but the one fact remains the same. It is all my fault.

.

Every night it replays in my head. The hands on my body. The pain. The snap of Katniss' neck as she hit the floor. I wake up screaming, tangled in my sheets, but no-one comes.

.

Sometimes, Prim will find me in the kitchen, desperately searching in all the cupboards and around the doors, trying to make sure there's no-one there. She gently steers me back to the table, telling me that it's okay. It's not.

.

I think about the old Madge. I was so stupid and innocent and naïve back then. I played the piano and ate strawberries and was so in love with Gale Hawthorne.

(He hasn't come back).

.

I don't know when it is that I start cutting myself. The knife is just there, one day, and I pick it up, turning it over and over in my hands. On a whim, I press it to the back of my hand. It stings, but the guilt recedes. Prim comes in then, and shouts at me, that her sister died for me and all I can do is hurt myself. Then she bursts into tears and makes me promise never to do it again.

Rory comes in and holds her tightly, and then they take the knife away.

I find a way to keep doing it. After a while, Prim stops shouting. She just bathes the cuts and bandages them whilst I look on, silent.

.

Posy chatters a lot. She doesn't understand. She can't understand. Prim and Rory watch me and they watch her, and they watch each other.

.

It's a few weeks after our return, and I'm managing to eat a little more of the food that Prim puts in front of me – more of the same, dried meat and water and potatoes. Then I find the piano again. I sit down and lift the lid, running my hands along the dusty keys.

It's days before I pluck up the courage to press a note down, but then it's like a dam has burst. The music comes rushing out of me. I can't stop it.

.

I've been playing pretty much non-stop for two days when there's a flicker. The lights on the ceiling go back on. And then there are two people in the doorway. I can feel them watching me.

"Go easy." It's Prim. "She's fragile."

"Okay." My heart starts to beat faster. Oh God. Gale. It's Gale. Then the guilt crashes back down again, and I can't stop thinking about how he'll hate me because I made it back and Katniss didn't. He comes up, and crouches next to me.

"Madge," he says. I don't look at him. I can't. "_Madge."_

I keep playing.

"Don't do this. Don't block me out."

The notes, plink, plonk, like a river.

After a while, he goes away.

That night, the cuts get deeper.

.

He tries every day, but the time gets shorter and shorter. I play until my fingers are cracked and swollen, and the cuts are bleeding again under their bandages. And then comes the day when he doesn't come into the sitting room anymore. I see him leave for the woods. It hurts me, to ignore him like this, but what can I do when all I hear is the crack of Katniss' neck, and gunfire, the laughter of those soldiers?

So many people have died and yet I'm still alive. It makes me feel sick with self-loathing. What am I that makes me any better than them? Why do I deserve to live when they don't?

.

One day, I hear him shouting. The smash of china. Rory's voice, low and urgent.

Then, silence. Footsteps. His hands take mine, pull them off the piano. "Listen to me," he says. "For fuck's sake, Madge, just _listen._"

I stare at him mutely. He grips my hands tighter. Pain shoots up my fingers.

"You are the only reason I've kept going," he says, frank, honest, brutal. It cuts me somewhere deep inside. "They made me…they made me do horrible things, and I could only keep going because of you. I thought of you, and how I'd get back to you. If I didn't have you, I'd be dead out there somewhere." Then, a pause. "I love you."

Tears well in my eyes. "I…" my voice is scratchy. "I can't."

I jerk my hands out of his grasp and stumble upstairs, falling over halfway. Crawl to my room. There's a knife, there, hidden in the bedside drawers. I take it out, look at the way the light dances along the sharp edge. I'm nothing. I'm broken and damaged and used, and he must be lying when he says he loves me because no-one can love me, not now, I can't see how that would _work._

I raise the knife to my wrists.

.

He finds me. He always does. There's blood on the sheets and blood up my arms, and I think he's going to be angry, but all he does is carry me to the bathroom, and wash the red from my skin. And then he holds me all night. He tells me that he knows what happened to Katniss, and that nothing could have changed that. He says that he loves me. Over and over and over again, until it's imprinted into my brain, and the thought overrides the feel of hands on my skin, of the snap of Katniss' neck, the screams of the other women.

When dawn comes, I'm crying, but this time, it's not acid and hatred and fear. This time, it feels like a healing.

.

The war ends. My Dad phones, in a complete and utter panic, and Gale talks to him for me, holding me close on our bed and saying things like, she's fine, Senator Undersee, we're all fine here. Dad wants to bring me home. I take the phone off Gale, and tell him that I have to stay here. That I can't go. He hears the crack in my voice, and understands, reluctantly, with the promise that he'll be over as soon as civilian planes are flying again.

The nightmares still come, even though peace is back for good, and sometimes I take off in the middle of the night in search of a knife to just make the bloody pain stop, but Gale stops me. I sink to the floor.

"I don't know how you can stand me."

He joins me on the tiles, pulling me into his arms. He kisses the scars on my arms, the back of my neck. "I love you."

.

It's the little things that make life after the war bearable. The spring sunshine. The sleep sticking to Gale's lashes in the mornings. The asparagus he brings back from his hunting trips. Walking in on Prim and Rory making out on the couch, and hearing Gale say, "It's about time." They fill up my mind, and make me forget about the fact that Peeta's rotting body was found in the shell of the bakery, and that Vick never comes back, and that Posy still wakes up screaming and crawls into bed with me and Gale.

The bigger things will come later. The commemorations. The remembrances. The graveyards, the peace deals, the politics and everything else that has to happen after a war that wrecked the world. I don't mind that. The country will fit itself back together in time. We can wait.

One day, Gale finds me sitting in the shade in the garden with some paint of Posy's that I'd found in a cupboard in the pantry, and several of the largest stones I could find nestled in the grass. He kneels beside me, pushes my hair away from my face, and presses a gentle kiss to my temple. "What are you doing?"

I pick up the paintbrush and dip it in the purple paint. The red would show up better, but I can't. Red is blood and blood is bad. KATNISS EVERDEEN I write in shaky capitals. Gale's arm around my shoulders tightens. PEETA MELLARK. VICK HAWTHORNE. CLOVE. ANNIE. JOHANNA. Then a phrase comes to my head, the one that's been drummed into me at Remembrance days for long-ago wars ever since I was a kid.

_At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them._

I arrange them in a neat semicircle at the edge of the flowerbed, and Gale and I look at them for long, slow moments. Then I press a kiss to the palm of my hand and hold it out to them. I brush away the tears that have collected in my eyes.

Then we stand and walk away into the sunlight.

_A/N Please review! Sal xxx_


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